


The Take

by Liquid_Lyrium



Series: To Walk a Crooked Mile [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, Getting Together, Hanzo Shimada has Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Oral Sex, Phantom Limb Pain, Porn with Feelings, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: Eighteen months and two days have led them to this point. It's something they're both familiar with, but entirely new. It's a night full of expectations and the unexpected. If not a night, then a jet lagged morning.[A direct continuation of The Long Con]





	The Take

**[April 15, 2074]**

_Jesse McCree had never looked more glorious than he did backlit and dimly silhouetted in his bathroom with the furious sound of bristles on teeth. A sudden bark of laughter became a peal as the cowboy slammed back some whiskey straight from the bottle, gargled, and then spat into the sink before loading up his toothbrush with paste again. Jesse coughed softly as he carefully squeezed the toothpaste, hindered by his unfamiliar hand._

_“You are utterly ridiculous. That should not have been so surprising.”_

_“‘S how you know it’s real. Wouldn’t waste good whiskey like that on a lesser man,” Jesse’s words were slightly muffled with the toothbrush in his mouth, but ultimately understandable. Hanzo snorted softly, that strange sensation still rooted in his chest. Almost like prickling but so much more pleasant._

_“I would lecture you on what makes for good whiskey, but I imagine it would fall on deaf ears, as usual.”_

_“Aw darlin’ I always love listening to you.” Jesse spat into the sink again. “Don’t mean yer always right, or that I gotta pay it any mind, but I’ll let you talk my ear off ‘bout anything you want.” McCree gargled another mouthful of whiskey and a grimace pulled across his face as he leaned over the sink to spit it out. His expression did not improve as he tipped the bottle back again and swallowed._

_Hanzo was tempted to take a sip for courage._

_McCree must have seen something in his expression, because the man tilted his head, dark eyes sizing Hanzo up and down._

_“Getting second thoughts there darlin’? It's alright if you are.” Jesse brushed a knuckle under his lip, just the very tip of his tongue running nervously along the seam of his mouth._

_For a moment, half a breath, time seemed to still._

_Not too late to pull back._

_He could simply walk away from all of this, pretend it had never happened._

_But surely that would be a waste of good whiskey._

_Hanzo smiled and shook his head once, “No. Not now.” He crossed the distance and took the whiskey bottle from Jesse's hand. Hanzo took the barest sip, just enough to moisten his lips. He felt gooseflesh along his cheeks and down his arms. He set the bottle down and laced his fingers with Jesse's._

_“But I would appreciate it if you would…put some lead into it.” The expression of surprise and then sly joy that crossed Jesse’s face told him he’d summoned the right idiom._

_“Told you didn't I? I'm done lollygagging.”_

_Hanzo smirked and started pulling Jesse towards the door._

***

They sneak their way to Hanzo's room, like delinquent teens. The usual sort of delinquency neither of them had been afforded at that age.

Hanzo’s room is spartan, but it has at least become something more than where he sleeps, over time. Against all odds, he has managed to keep the succulents Jesse gifted him alive. The three plants are spaced throughout his quarters. Evidence of an afternoon spent privately agonizing over harmony and balance. Hanzo feels a startling urge to pull one off a shelf and thrust it in Jesse’s face, in order to show him his faith had not been misplaced.

_Foolish._

Jesse notices anyway, admiring the one centered on top of his dresser. “Ah, they’re looking good. Wasn’t sure plants would be your thing, but a bit o’ green does a place good, I think.” The man stands in the center of the room, slowly turning, inspecting the surroundings. Jesse has rarely been allowed past the door, and appears to be determined to drink everything in. As if he is a tourist at the Moorish castle a few kilometers away.

Jesse’s room, Hanzo knows, is only slightly more lived in than his. Neither of them came to Overwatch with much in the way of possessions and even though it has been well over a year, Hanzo just hasn’t picked up much in the way of _personal_ items. Perhaps because he still doesn’t know who the new Hanzo is. Perhaps because he wants to leave as little behind as possible should he need to run. It is difficult to say which is more accurate.

Still in addition to the succulents, there are two holo-frames on the dresser. One is a static picture of himself and Genji as teens, his younger brother’s hair spiked and green. A contrast to Hanzo’s severe and stifled image beside him. The other frame cycles through pictures taken on base and on missions every 90 seconds. Most of the pictures were taken by others and given to him, but there is a photo of Jesse curled up and sleeping in a too-small seat of a train car in the rotation that Hanzo took himself.

There is a proper weapon stand for his bows on the northern wall. The one he’d used on this last mission is already resting in its proper place. On his desk there is a small, personal tea set and a compact lacquered wooden box that contains his personal stash of teas. Mostly green, but there are a few white and some jasmine tea blends as well. There is a green glow where the ungodly hour of the morning is projected onto the wall from the digital clock on the desk. There is a Pachimari figurine that resembles a teru teru bozu that Hana gave him on the desk as well. Some “Limited Edition” gachapon figurine. Hanzo is known to place it upside-down when Jesse is scheduled to fly off-base on missions without him—something he will never admit to, even under torture. It has never had the desired effect of delaying the man's departure. While genuine tatami are too cost-prohibitive to import, he has managed to arrange some plain off-white rugs into a traditional auspicious pattern that cover the floor completely. It is, perhaps, unlike him to do anything that is inauthentic, but the familiarity and sense of harmony is something Hanzo has come to appreciate over authenticity.

“Oh, shit, sorry. I forgot. Lemme just—” McCree bends down and wiggles out of his weathered boots. “Should I, uh…?  I dunno if you have a spare set of slippers or something?” The cowboy looks like a man adrift at sea, a boot in each hand, balancing on the edges of his sock-clad feet to minimize contact with the floor. Hanzo chuckles again, and steps forward. The boot in the grip of the temporary prosthetic looks a little precarious.

He takes the boots and sets them beside the door. It is not as if the quarters are especially spacious, and he barely has to move to do so. He flicks the light switches so that the overhead lights are off, but a golden glow streams from the adjoining bathroom. Hanzo kneels and begins to remove the heavy braces. “I think for one night, it is acceptable. We can get you a pair of your own slippers on the next supply run. Besides, I have no plans this evening that involve anything other than that bed.” Hanzo looks up at Jesse, fully intending to strike the man through with his gaze.

A victorious smile spreads across his face as he hears Jesse suck in a breath. “Sit,” Hanzo gestures towards the bed with his head. It will be another minute or two before he has his own footwear removed.

The sheets are another personal touch. Hanzo has two other sets of bedclothes that he invested in. The ones on the bed now were procured across the border in Spain. Deep blue with a gaudy metallic gold brushstroke-dragon print that Hanzo likes more than he cares to admit out loud. The materials are what sold him, more than the print on the coverlet. The sheets are soft, smooth, and wick moisture away to stay cool during the heat of summer.

Hanzo looks up as he leans one of his braces by the door. McCree is sitting on the bed, toeing his socks off. The bed had always been big enough for Hanzo, but he wonders now how on earth the two of them are going to fit. McCree has the same single mattress as he does in his quarters, but Hanzo realizes for the first time that the cowboy must barely fit lengthwise. In the homeland he left behind, Hanzo is slightly taller than average, but he’s never been miserable for it. He bends back down and works on unbuckling the second brace.

He supposes they will make due and figure this puzzle of human geometry out.

It feels slightly odd to walk on the carefully arranged rugs in bare feet, but that is of little consequence compared to what sits before him. A barefoot McCree, legs stretched out a short distance from the bed. Lounging on the edge of his mattress, as if this is not the first time he’s done this.

As if he’s always been here.

McCree presses his hand into the bed casually testing it, “You know, I think you got a better mattress than me in here? Any chance we can swap after this?”

A jest, to lighten the mood, but Hanzo does not find himself laughing. He can see tension in the set of Jesse’s shoulders.

Honesty and humility hurt in this instance, but Hanzo supposes there is no point in lying. His actions will betray the truth readily enough.

“You will have to forgive me. I am… woefully out of practice. To say the least.” It seems like a lifetime ago to Hanzo, trying to remember _when_ he last enjoyed the company of someone else, another man. Who was the last man he’d been with? Hayato? Masami? It’s been long enough his infrequent encounters were starting to blur together. Hayato seems right.

“I ain't exactly fresh off a host of suitors myself here. We'll manage.” Jesse fishes two small, square packages out of his pocket and sets them down towards the foot of the bed. Hanzo notes Jesse taking care not to put too much weight on the temporary prosthetic. He will be sure not to do the same.

Hanzo feels the muscles in his throat squeeze as he swallows reflexively. Still he moves forward. Hanzo takes slow deliberate steps as much to torture Jesse as to give himself a moment to become accustomed to the fact that this is real.

“Quite the sparse preparations,” Hanzo wets his lip, unable to progress further than that for the moment.

He places his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, with reverence that borders on trepidation. He takes care where the almost invisible stitches Dr. Ziegler left are. _There should be silk and sake_ , Hanzo idly thinks. Still, it is gratifying to watch Jesse’s face, rapt with awe as he slowly sinks his way onto the other man’s lap, knees resting on the decidedly less sumptuous covers.

He isn’t sure how much of the heat he feels is shared or purely Jesse’s, but Hanzo is unable to resist wrapping his arms around Jesse’s neck and shoulders, drawing that heat closer in, draping down to bury his nose in the man’s hair. He feels strangely thankful that at least one of them looks like himself. The only difference between Jace and McCree is that Jace has had a recent trim to eliminate his split ends.

Jesse’s hand is on his hip, and Hanzo feels the faint weight of the skeletal prosthetic on his knee.

“Dunno what your stash is like, but I don't got a lot in the way of protection right now. Might need to pace ourselves for a bit, ‘cause I ain't going to the good doctor for more ‘contraceptives.’”

Hanzo feels Jesse's hair tickle his nose as he snorts lightly with amusement. “I admire your faith in my restraint, misplaced as it may be.”

“Shit darlin’ you jerk off? How much? You been thinking of me?” McCree rolls his brow and cheek along Hanzo’s rib cage in a manner that is not unlike worship. It feels like his heart is trying to do acrobatics in his chest, but Hanzo manages to keep his voice level.

“Haven't you done the same?”

“Hey, I've been a gentleman! Try to keep you outta my solo sessions as much as possible.”

Hanzo holds Jesse's jaw between both hands, tipping his skull back and makes a show of evaluating that handsome face. He keeps his expression arch and distant. “Hm. I have not been so restrained.” Satisfaction twists Hanzo's lips into a smile after his flippant admission; beneath him Jesse groans and his expression is the most vivid, exquisite portrait of agony.

“Jesus I'm over here trying to be respectful and you been a downright villain!”

“I am a former criminal.” It is the first time he has appended the word “former” to that designation. Hanzo pushes the thought aside before it becomes all-consuming. “This is suffering of your own making. No one told you you couldn't.”

He can almost feel the blush he sees beneath his fingertips, “Well, I mean, the operative word is _try_ …”

Hanzo chuckles, _that_ is the Jesse he knows. He leans down, lips pressing against Jesse’s temple and he tastes just a bit of salt beneath the mix of whiskey and smoke, “How often did you fail?”

“More often’n I care to admit. You seem to sneak in around the edges. Makin’ me doubt I'm a man of good character over here.” Jesse's fingers press against the back of his thighs. The crescent ends of his replacement arm are cool as they settle along his elbow.

For a moment, that all consuming hunger he felt on the cliff is back. The skin along his tattoo prickles, gooseflesh covering his entire back in an instant.

In the same moment Hanzo has a startling realization. Yes, he _could_ have something raw and wild; he _could_ consume the man he has trapped firmly between his thighs, _but he doesn't want that._

Hanzo sucks in a breath that makes his chest hurt and shudder, the cool air a sharp knife in his lungs.

Right now, he wants anything but that; even if he feels unequipped to deliver on his own desires.

It is unfamiliar, as are so many things with McCree. Hanzo swallows, suddenly feeling less confident. What if McCree is expecting something else?

Hanzo places his mouth just below the point of Jesse's widow's peak. A touch of lips that builds in pressure until it is a kiss to the forehead. Tenderness is not afforded to men like them. Hanzo feels himself trembling. Tender does not come easily. It does not come naturally, but as terrified as he is, he very much wants to have it. From the way McCree closes his eyes, Hanzo can see that he wants it as well. As thirsty for that tenderness as the desert is for rain.

His mouth hovers above Jesse's skin. Hanzo does not hesitate, not ever, yet here he is. Indecisive, spoiled for choice, and unable to trust his instincts. Jesse’s eyes slowly open, and crinkle up at him in a smile.

“Yer thinkin’ too hard there pardner.”

Hanzo feels his face burn with heat. He knows Jesse doesn’t mean it as an indictment, but it is an imperfection all the same. “As I said it has been—”

“—A long time. I know,” Jesse turns to brush his lips against the base of Hanzo’s thumb. “Me too, honey.” Jesse chuckles, all sweet tea and bright sunshine. “Turns out wandering by yer lonesome, being on the lam, and dispensing vigilante justice don’t leave a lot of time fer-fer canoodling.” There is the barest hitch as Hanzo trances his fingers down Jesse’s neck.

“You will tell me if you find something objectionable?” Hanzo's thumb edges along Jesse's jugular vein.

“Course darlin’. We'll figure this out together, me and you. Doubt there's much you'd do to me that I'd object to, though.” Jesse's eyes are half lidded and he lifts his chin.

There is something humbling about being allowed to touch the man's throat like this. The amount of trust overwhelms Hanzo for a moment. As if it is nothing, Jesse makes himself vulnerable beneath hands that were trained to kill.

Of course, so are McCree’s.

Hanzo reaches down and brings Jesse's remaining hand up to his neck, callouses rough against his skin. He shivers as a rough thumb presses along the curve of bone at the corner of his jaw. A firm press at that tender flesh underneath, his beard an inadequate armor if McCree decides here and now to end him. Lightning seems to climb up his sternum as Jesse traces his thumb up, resting it in that hollow where ear, jaw, and neck met as one. He applies a similar pressure there, this time pulling downward. Jesse lets his touch lighten, thumb brushing through the well groomed hair that adorns his jaw.

Jesse lets out a slow, wistful sigh. “Don't think I'll ever be as broke up about that missing hand of mine as I am right now.” Hanzo places another kiss to the man's forehead, the motion a little more certain this time.

Jesse's fingers move to cradle his skull, thumb following the angles of his cheeks like a sculptor. The sound of calluses catching on the fine bristles of his undercut is deafening. He feels questing fingers trail upwards, and the moment Hanzo realizes what Jesse is doing, his hair spills out of his topknot.

“There. Pretty as a picture,” Jesse is all smiles as he taps the end of Hanzo’s nose. Again, Hanzo feels the tell-tale burn suffuse his cheeks. He reaches up and touches his bridge piercing.

“Hardly the usual picture,” there is unease in his chest. Unfounded, but it leaves him feeling unmoored.

“Aww, hey now. This getup is a good look on you. You should think about keeping it,” McCree’s smile is so genuine that Hanzo feels a bit of tension leave his shoulders.

“Hm. I endured enough ridicule I suppose I could hardly stand to lose any _more_ dignity by adopting Heizo’s look permanently.”

“For what it’s worth Jace and I both liked it.” Hanzo exhales a quiet laugh again.

“Did he now? Pity he never told Heizo that.”

“This be easier for you if we were still Jace and Heizo? I don't mind.” A playful smile stretches across that broad face.

 _Yes_. He suspects it would be easier for Jesse as well, but _easy_ isn’t the point of this.

“If I were interested in _easy_ , Jesse, I think I would have pitched you over the cliff into the sea, but here we are. If you wanted Heizo you should have made your move in Nevada. You will have to deal with me.”

Jesse laughs, full and deep-throated. Hanzo shivers as he feels the vibrations of it through his chest. “Alright, fair enough.”

Hanzo tucks an errant lock behind Jesse’s ear, “Perhaps another time.”

He likes how easy it is to make Jesse smile, and he particularly enjoys that hungry gaze leveled in his direction.

Jesse threads their fingers together, and Hanzo feels his skin set ablaze at the brush of lips on his knuckles. “You are just determined to be the death of me, ain’tcha?”

“That would be too easy,” Hanzo smirks, and trails the backs of his fingers down the cowboy’s cheek. Cautiously, Hanzo offers a little more honesty. It feels _wrong_ exposing himself and making himself vulnerable, but he would master this challenge if it took him the rest of his life. “I am… It is not… I _want_ this, but I am not certain…” Hanzo lets out a short breath, exasperated by his own rambling. “I want _you_. I want...this, in a way I am unaccustomed to wanting. It is…difficult.”

McCree tips his head back. Even in the dim light Hanzo can see the thoughtful, calculating gleam of those dark eyes. There is a surprising lull before he speaks again, “I think I get it.” Jesse leans back, and places Hanzo’s hand against his chest. He spreads Hanzo’s fingers with flesh and metal, taking care to be delicate with his left hand. “Loneliness can do terrible things to a person. Make a man forget all the good things he’s got.” Jesse swallows, and seems caught on his own tongue for a moment.

“He can forget how to hold a conversation.” The irony is not lost on Hanzo as he throws out this lifeline. McCree’s hand covers his own.

“A man can forget a lot of things when he’s on his own. Just takes a bit of practicing t’remember.” Hanzo smiles and bends down to touch their foreheads together.

“Practice, hm? That sounds promising. What sort of practice do you recommend? It seems like we have conversation covered.” _At last_. Hanzo pauses from his self-admonishment to slide off of Jesse’s lap and settle next to him on the bed. A nervous laugh bubbles out of McCree.

“Now, you’re _sure_ you want Jesse for this one?”

Hanzo snorts and shoves Jesse by the shoulders down onto the bed. “Quite sure.” Hanzo crawls over Jesse and McCree shifts his hips and legs so that they're aligned well enough to share the narrow bed. Hanzo settles so that his knees are snug around Jesse’s waist, his hands sinking into the mattress above his shoulders.

“How's the view from up there, partner?” Jesse reaches up and touches Hanzo's cheek.

“Promising,” Hanzo bends his head down, and this time he is the one who steals Jesse's laughter with a kiss to the neck. He lays a kiss against a quickened pulse. Jesse moans and arches so easily, chest pressing up into Hanzo. There is still a faint aroma of smoke that surrounds Jesse. Heat travels down Hanzo’s back, like a panther’s deliberate footfalls tracking down his spine.

Hanzo kisses his way up the other side of Jesse’s neck, then retraces his path with the barest hint of his lips. It draws a faint, sweet sound from the throat beneath him. Even more vulnerable than before.

_I don’t deserve this._

The fact that he does not deserve Jesse will not stop him from taking what he offers.

Hesitantly, Hanzo runs his teeth against that delicate skin. It earns a shudder.

“ _Han_. You’re such a tease. Killin’ me over here,” There is a heat underneath that whine, like desert pavement after sunset. Another person might have been stirred to pity at the gaze Jesse levels at him.

“It can hardly be a surprise that I have no mercy.” It is said, perhaps, with more bitterness than Hanzo intended, but he cannot take it back.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, babe.” The way Jesse says _babe_ is neither demeaning, nor emasculating. It should irritate, chafe, but it doesn’t.

Hanzo bends down and kisses that neck again, this time going down, until he runs into plaid dominated by red. He worries the inside of his lip as he reaches down to start unbuttoning the plaid shirt beneath him.

“ _Han_ ,” Jesse’s hand has found its way back into his hair, tangling in the long strands, cradling his head. Hanzo kisses the hollows of his collarbones as they are unveiled, he traces his fingernails down Jesse’s sternum as well, through the short hairs that dust the man’s chest.

“Is this… Too little? Do you need something… different?” That nagging feeling of _not enough_ still plagues Hanzo. That he is incapable of doing this properly. That he is insufficient.

“If that’s yer way of asking if I want more, I surely do, but I like this.” Jesse wets his lips and he drops his gaze to Hanzo’s—for once—fully clothed chest. “I ain’t ever… Not sweet and slow like this. No one’s taken the time like this before. It’s…” Jesse looks so lost and helpless as he mouths unsaid, abandoned words. It is strange to see him at a loss for words more than twice in the same evening.

“I understand.”

Perhaps someday they will be able to say it, and not just understand it.

Still, Hanzo must have some measure of pity after all, because he sits up to fully unbutton and open Jesse’s shirt. He holds the sleeve for Jesse as he pulls the spindly arm through the armhole. Hanzo peels off his own shirt a moment later, and ignores the ridiculous whistle that Jesse lets out. He tosses them both aside, onto the floor.

He tells himself that the space on the mattress is at such a premium they cannot even afford that much compromise.

It is not far from the truth.

Hanzo shivers as he feels Jesse’s hands come to rest on his waist, fingertips framing his spine. The metal crescents are almost unbearably cold. He bends down, and tangles his fingers in Jesse’s hair, plying his skin with kisses, making himself breathless each time Jesse arches into his chest. He starts at the base of the neck and works his way up once more.

There is a certain inevitability to what is about to happen, and on some level it frightens Hanzo.

He cannot fight it, nor does he wish to, even as it feels out of his control.

He places a kiss under Jesse’s eye, where Deadeye is housed, before following the curve of his cheek. He feels a thumb made of flesh brush up and down his waist, and an arm that is half metal curl around him. Like a man weathering a storm.

There is more heat than Hanzo expects when their lips finally meet. He feels as if he is suddenly trying to channel a volcano through his chest and into Jesse.

Underneath the powerful taste of mint and whiskey, there is still an palpable, metallic bitterness of smoke and ash.

Hanzo doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would, and it is a temporary issue. He pulls back for a moment, breathing ragged, but he finds himself drawn back to that mouth, despite the undercurrent of smoke. For a moment it is irritating that he cannot discern what _Jesse_ himself tastes like.

Jesse curses as their lips draw apart again, looking as dazed as if he’d been caught by one of his own concussion grenades. “Shit.”

Hanzo murmurs something like contented agreement, and kisses him again, and Jesse shifts beneath him, a muffled “ _Shit”_ against his lips. It takes another repetition before Hanzo’s kiss-addled brain realizes that this is not borne of pleasure or enjoyment.

He pushes himself up abruptly, and realizes with horror that there is _pain_ on Jesse’s face, while he repeats the curse like a mantra.

The room lights up electric blue as hard light and something like electricity twines and crackles down Hanzo’s arm, even though he knows that is the _least_ useful thing in this moment.

“Jesse?”

He thought he had been scared, out on the cliffs, but Hanzo could see now he was sorely mistaken. He had never been scared in his life until now.

\----

Jesse McCree could not be angrier at the universe in this moment. Even if Talon were to launch an attack on base and bust through the windows, right now, he could not be angrier.

God, of all the times to have a fucking flare up, it’s right _now!?_

Jesse is vaguely aware that Hanzo is no longer on top of him because there is an absence of weight. He uses this to fruitlessly press his hand against his bicep, above the joining of flesh and metal.

All he can feel is the burning where two cartridges of shot were unloaded into his arm.

He can still feel each individual pellet—though at the range he’d been shot at there wasn’t much spread.

“ _Ai_ … me cago en mi brazo!”

He sucks in a breath and starts breathing deep. It isn’t real. It _is_ , but it’s just a malfunction of the nerves. He hasn’t been shot again, it’s just his brain hanging onto the memory of the pain that existed before he lost his hand.

“Sorry ‘bout this hon.” Jesse manages to speak through his teeth and between breaths of air. The pain is somehow in its own separate arm, overlaid on his prosthetic.

“Is it the prosthetic? Has something malfunctioned, do you need it off?”

McCree shakes his head, “Just… phantom pains. G-give it a minute.”

Hanzo seems to relax now that there is a name for what plagues him. His face is still drawn, and studying Jesse with an intensity that would be flattering if he could focus on it.

“Will it become worse if I—should I…?” Hanzo’s arm hovers behind him. Honestly, Jesse doesn't think it will make a damn bit of difference.

“ _Please,_ ” he says with his mouth. He is rewarded in an instant. Hanzo’s hand rests on the back of his neck, his arm around Jesse’s good shoulder in something like a half-embrace.

“I have heard of this, but I do not recall seeing you...experience this before. Does this happen often?”

He’s grateful for the question. It’s something else to focus on.

“Nah. Used to, though. Haven’t had an attack in over a year.” Jesse clenches and unclenches the temporary prosthetic, as though this will somehow break the spell. He sucks in another breath, trying to remind himself that holding it is bad. “Stopped being regular ‘bout the time you joined up actually.”

There is something in Hanzo’s voice that Jesse can’t quite place. “‘Stopped being regular?’”

“Yeah, was pretty...hoo...pretty bad back in the day.” Jesse can feel himself sweating. He was hoping to be sweating for different reasons by now.

“I have been told the sensations are… more intense closer to the initial loss. They become less frequent over time.”

“That’s usually how it works, yeah.” He turns his head into Hanzo's touch as the man's fingers brush along his brow. A sweet anchor of tenderness against the hellfire in his arm.

“How did Jace lose his arm?”

The question throws Jesse for a moment, but he lets out a soft shaky laugh. It's touching that Hanzo is willing to bring back their covers after his insistence they be set aside.

“Nothing glorious. Training accident with some buddies. Stupid stunt gone wrong.”

“I hope Jace did not pursue this folly in trying to impress Heizo.”

“The thought had crossed my mind, but if you don't like it…”

“I do not think Heizo would appreciate being the impetus behind that tragedy.”

“Fair enough. I'll run another draft by you sometime. If we need ‘em again.”

“Are you sure you do not need medical attention?”

Jesse shakes his head, still panting. “Not yet. This ain't so bad.” Terrible as it is, it’s the God’s honest truth.

“What do you suppose brought this on? Was it something I did?”

Jesse laughs at that, fragile and tenuous, “It's possible. I thought Angie was being cute when she said sex could trigger a flare up, back when I wasn't getting any. Kinda forgot about that one to be honest. I mean… when yer touching my cheek I feel it where my hand and arm used to be. But it might've been the chain smoking. Or the new arm I ain't used to. Or maybe a storm’s coming in. Or all of them mixed together. Hell, I dunno.”

Hanzo moves his hand down McCree's shoulder and starts giving him an impromptu massage.

There is a sudden, unbearable silence. Jesse can feel the hesitation in his partner. He can just about mouth the script of self-doubt and uncertainty going through the man’s head.

“Hanzo, talk to me. Ask me anything, babe.”

“Is it better or worse?”

“Bout the same. Maybe better? Man, I give you permission to ask me anything, and that's the first thing you ask?”

“It is the most important question right now. What else should I ask?” Hanzo sounds almost affronted.

“I dunno. How _Jesse_ lost his arm? When I realized I fell for ya? If I sleep naked? Hell, I dunno.”

“ _Do_ you sleep naked?”

“Don’t care for it. Had to run away from a couple hairy situations buck naked a couple times, which is twice too many in a single lifetime.” Jesse turns to look Hanzo in the eyes. His mind is wheeling faster than the gears in the hoverbikes he used to ride in Deadlock Gorge.

The questions he’s waiting for still haven’t come.

“I don't get it.”

“Hmm?”

“Anybody else on base would be grilling me about this thing right now,” Jesse lifts up the prosthetic arm, feeling a momentary dizziness as me moves it through the pain.

“I am not anybody else.” _Ain’t that the truth._

“You’re not gonna ask? You don’t wanna know?” The thought actually hurts. That Hanzo doesn’t want to know this story, doesn’t want to know him completely. Part of him knows it's unfair, given how much he's withheld, but it still kills a tiny piece of him.

Hanzo lets out a sharp breath through his nostrils. “I did not say that. I do not demand anything you are unwilling to give.”

“I'm telling you, I'm _ready_ to tell you. I _wanna_ tell ya, but you gotta ask!” Jesse squeezes his arm hard enough he wonders if there will be bruises later.

“If you were ready to tell me, you would not need my prompting.” Hanzo is brushing Jesse's hair behind his ears again, which is unfair and distracting.

“Why can’t you ask me a simple question?” Jesse grits his teeth against the burning sensation.

“Does this tale, perhaps, involve one of the instances where you were fleeing danger naked?”

Jesse can’t help the half-laugh that escapes him even as he gets angrier, “No!”

Hanzo shrugs and resumes his quest to find more pressure points down Jesse’s spine, “Then I am not interested.”

“C’mon Han, I’m being serious here!”

“McCree, am I correct in understanding that you are _offended_ that I am not asking you a personal, invasive question while you are in a great deal of pain?”

McCree again. A step backwards.

Even more than being just _McCree_ again, he hates how irrational that makes him sound. “Fuck you,” he wishes the words held more power as he snarls them, but it sounds like the empty whine of a teenager to his own ears.

“That is not what I had in mind, but if you have a strong preference that can be arranged.” Jesse's too upset to enjoy the humor or the promise there.

“I ain’t told anybody the whole story. Not even Angie. You really don’t wanna hear it?” The truth sits inside him like an infected tooth in need of pulling. Jesse feels lost between the pain and the terrifying thought that Hanzo might never ask him to tell that tale.

“I do not want to hear it like this.” Hanzo’s fingers cover his lips in an instant, before Jesse can even take a breath. “You have divulged enough tonight. Jesse McCree, you are many things. Smart, resourceful, calculating, ruggedly handsome, earnest, kind, but self-aware you are not.”

“I ain’t that smart,” Jesse looks away as Hanzo drops his fingers. Jesse flexes the pinky on his prosthetic as he suddenly realizes that the pain has decreased by a considerable margin. Breathing is a little easier, his chest isn't so tight.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Jesse admits. He feels a bit sheepish now. _You stupid idiot. Got yerself all mad about nothing._ “Sorry. Dunno why I got so heated there. Maybe the pain was makin’ me stubborn over nothing. Stupid to fight.”

Hanzo chuckles lightly, “That I will not argue with. I will, however, forgive you.”

“Thanks,” Jesse leans down to rest his forehead on Hanzo’s collarbone, tugging the man into a one-armed embrace. Jesse rides out the rest of the pain in silence. Hanzo traces his back, still putting pressure in all sorts of places which make Jesse keenly aware of how knotted his back is.

He trails his thumb along Hanzo’s spine before sitting up again.

“Has it fully passed?” He can tell that Hanzo is searching his face for any falsehood.

“Yeah. Any idea how long that all lasted? Good doctor’s gonna ask when I tell her ‘bout it.” McCree prays to all the gods he knows about that Athena will stay out of their conversation. It’s tough enough for _him_ to swallow that she’s always there, let alone a private man like Hanzo. It’ll be a damn sight easier to pretend that she doesn’t exist if she keeps her mouth shut.

Then again, she hadn’t chimed in to ask him if he needed medical attention, so maybe she’s focusing her… intelligence elsewhere?

“I would estimate seven, no, eight and a half minutes at least? Perhaps as long as ten?”

Jesse lets out a low breath, trying not to give his relief away.

 _Lucky_.

“Short ‘n sweet. Told you it’d pass. Sorry ‘bout… you know. Killing the mood. It’s that competitive streak in me. Gotta one-up ya.” Hanzo snorts, and Jesse leers at him, “You _know_ I’m right.”

“If you like, we can have a rousing discussion about my inadequacies as a field commander.” Jesse cackles. Hanzo’s humor is bone dry, but it’s so good.

“To be fair darlin’, we ain’t exactly exactly got a great win-loss ratio at the moment. You came out with the same number of folks that went in. Pretty good if you ask me.” Hanzo snorts lightly and shakes his head, and Jesse finds himself distracted by the way the ends of his hair dance along his neckline.

McCree fusses with his prosthetic. It feels too fragile compared to his usual arm. Jesse already felt like he couldn’t trust it before. Now that it’s maybe, possibly helped trigger a phantom pain attack, off it goes.

“You should think about investing in a spare,” there’s a little line between Hanzo’s brows as he says this.

“Probably,” McCree agrees and carefully sets the arm down on the floor beside the bed. “What color you want it in?”

Hanzo chuckles and presses McCree back against the bed once more. Jesse very much wants to get used to this feeling.

He can feel Hanzo’s breath on his cheek, “You make it sound like picking out a car. Will it also have a convertible top?”

“Only the best,” Jesse reaches up and cups the back of Hanzo’s head. He can’t get enough of the feel of those silky strands mixed with that buzzcut. He’s been content to let Hanzo run the show so far. Man seems like he needs to, and Jesse isn’t one to complain if it leads to more kisses like earlier.

He just wishes he could keep that uncertainty, that hesitancy that keeps peeking through at bay forever, but Hanzo’s been alone a lot longer, and it’s a lot to recover from.

Jesse knows that intimately, but it worries him how easy it is for Hanzo to get stuck in his own head. Especially since he knows that there are other things that wrap themselves around Hanzo’s thoughts from time to time.

“C’mon, tell me the color I should go for.” He’s only half-joking.

“Something in matte black would not be bad. It would go with anything.” Jesse instantly pictures himself with a stylish arm all carbon fiber and looking suave as hell. Like some movie superspy, in a sharp outfit Hanzo’s put him in.

It’s not a bad point.

“Not red, huh?” He supposes it’s too obvious a choice.

Hanzo shakes his head, “Do as you like, but the potential for clashing is quite high.”

“Speaking of _potential_ , any chance things look promising again?” Jesse tries to put on an enticing, smoldering expression, but he can’t keep the grin off his face. Hanzo seems to like it anyway, because in a moment he’s laying down a path of kisses up his neck until his mouth is placing sparks in the space below his ear.

Jesse takes a moment to run his knuckles cautiously over the man's bicep, along one of the lightning bolts. “Sorry bout waking them up,” he’s slightly breathless.

“I apologize. My control should have been better,” Hanzo turns his gaze away.

Jesse gently takes Hanzo by the chin and brushes a kiss over those soft lips, “It’s charming. Pulling yer tatsu out fer little old me.” He leans forward to taste Hanzo’s lips again, unable to help himself, embracing the man as best he can.

Jesse gasps and fights a shudder as Hanzo runs his hand up his waist on the left side, all the way up, including the underside of his stump. The other man above him pulls back, “Is that bad?”

“It just is,” Jesse isn’t sure how to feel about it. He’s had time to get used to it, but this is a new challenge he hasn’t had to navigate since losing his arm. Being one-handed and half-limbed isn’t exactly ideal for their first time, but they can make up for it at some point in the future.

Hanzo's next kiss is blessed absolution and oblivion, and Jesse almost laughs because Hanzo’s the one pulling him from his own thoughts this time.

It is still the most frustrating thing in the world that Jesse can’t place his hands, plural, on Hanzo’s waist right now. Especially since he can still feel his missing arm. It no longer hurts, but he can still sense where it used to be, where he wants the fingers of his left hand to be on Hanzo's body.

He settles for the one hand he has, curving his thumb along the hip bone peeking above Hanzo’s low-rise designer pants. He can feel Han’s stomach jump in response, but the man still kisses him slow and unhurried.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying to be this close to someone.

McCree hasn’t been with anyone since his Blackwatch days, and back then his tumbles were nothing like this. He doesn’t care to recall his previous lovers in any great detail at the moment, not with Hanzo hanging over him like God’s own vision of perfection. But Jesse knows this is different and Hanzo has admitted as much too.

This _means_ something.

He hasn’t been someone to somebody in a long time, and it’s an intoxicating feeling.

It’s like a shot of mezcal straight to the veins as Hanzo slides his thigh between Jesse’s. His heart pounds in his chest as Hanzo resumes an almost vampire-like fascination with his neck. Jesse would be a liar if he said he wasn't enjoying this, though. Hands, lips, teeth, and hot breath torture his skin.

He wishes he could stop closing his eyes so he’d have half a shot at remembering this later. It’s tempting to use Deadeye to burn this into his brain forever, but he knows all it would do is blind him for days and possibly burn out his brain instead.

“You wanna know my very first thought, the day I met you?” Jesse flexes his own thigh, pressing up against Hanzo, which draws the softest, rumbling groan from the other man’s throat.

“ _Ah…_ what did you think?”

“‘Easy on the eyes.’ Understatement of the century.” Hanzo laughs somewhere around his Adam’s apple.

“I regret to say that my memory of that meeting is… clouded,” Hanzo sounds genuinely remorseful, just another sorrow on those shoulders.

“Y’got better though. Yer _getting_ better. Don’t think you slipped under even once on the mission.”

“No,” the way Hanzo’s teeth pull at his lower lip is maddeningly distracting.

“See? Getting better all the time, both of us.” Jesse grins and reaches between them, dragging his thumb along those abs Hanzo works so hard to maintain. He’s rewarded with a full body twitch and a shudder beneath his hand.

He presses his hand flat against the plane of muscles and slowly turns his hand so that his fingertips are pointing down, following the thin trail of hair there. He can feel the tension in every powerful muscle of Hanzo’s body as he slides just the tips of his fingers underneath the waistband of those ridiculously expensive pants.

McCree doesn’t bother to fight the grin that spreads across his face as he feels the abdomen pressing into his wrist undulate.

Jesse’s willing to take things slow and let Hanzo run the show, but he’s not above giving a nudge here and there.

\----

For a man with only one hand at his disposal, Jesse is deftly undermining Hanzo’s initial determination to make this a slow, languid encounter.

Hanzo pushes himself upright, and shifts again, his knees squeezing Jesse’s waist once more. He rather feels that he’s making a noble sacrifice since Jesse’s hand has to withdraw to accommodate their change in position. He slides the tips of his toes under Jesse’s thighs to conserve what precious space there is on the single bed. He braces his hands on Jesse's chest. He can feel warmth at every point their bodies connect, like there are tiny stars trapped between them. His palms, his legs, his groin are all stricken by this searing heat.

“Well, you certainly got my attention”

It takes a little bravery on Hanzo's part, but he spreads his fingertips, little hairs shifting beneath his touch. “Before I first saw you without a shirt, I had imagined you much hairier. ‘Like a carpet,’ I think is the expression.”

Jesse chuckles, “Sorry if that's a disappointment.”

“Hardly. I do not think I would appreciate the amount of shedding and stray hairs that would bring.”

Jesse's laugh is cut short as Hanzo traces his fingers along the edges of Jesse's pectorals, brushing across those dark nipples cheekily. It's a light touch. He does it again to feel Jesse squirm beneath him. A simple flick, the barest hint of friction gives him so much control. The sheer power of it sends adrenaline and blood roaring through his temples.

Hanzo feels his breathing coming in heavier as he circles his thumbs there, slowly putting more pressure behind his touch. Beneath his fingers he can feel Jesse’s ribs move, can feel him take deeper breaths. Hanzo shifts his hips, seeking friction without thought. His knees dig into the curve of Jesse's waist as he shifts to find the best way to press their erections together.

“Ooh _baby,”_ Jesse arches into his touch, unable to remain still. _Baby_ should be even worse than _babe_ , but again Hanzo doesn't mind. The way Jesse whispers it reaches deep inside his gut and clenches tightly. Jesse traces his hand along Hanzo's knee, thumb pressing along the inseam, but stopping well short of the final destination. Jesse pulls his thumb back, and draws little circles just inside Hanzo’s knee. He isn’t sure where the need for bravery comes from. Neither of them are blushing virgins, but Hanzo can’t help feeling something… akin to that. Perhaps it is because it’s been at least a decade since he slept with someone, but Hanzo has a deep suspicion that it is not the cause. It may contribute, but it is not the full reason for this… _shyness_ for want of a better term.

Cheeks flushing, Hanzo summons up a bit more courage as he rolls the tight nubs between his fingers, drawing a broken curse from Jesse.

“ _Jesus_. An’ here I figured I’d be the first to get my hands on your mighty pecs. Not that I’m comparin’ my goods to yours.” Jesse’s reactions at least, help allay that feeling. He completely trusts the man to be completely honest in his expression, his enjoyment.

Hanzo chuckles, and gives the muscles an affectionate squeeze, “You have nothing to complain about.” Jesse’s build is solid, but he has a bit more padding around his muscles than Hanzo. Jesse’s also bulkier and less wiry than he was when Hanzo first joined.

Not that he’s been keeping track of the thickness of the man’s waist, or how the muscles in his limbs have changed.

Hanzo shifts his hips just a little and starts tracing his hands downwards, cataloging every scar or freckle that passes beneath his fingers. He pauses as his fingers slide across a ridge of skin between Jesse’s ribs. Hanzo has seen this mark before, but from a distance he had assumed the darker patch of skin was a birthmark. Now that he is touching it, he knows that it is the memory of a very old wound. Some kind of stab wound, Hanzo thinks, tracing the edges of it cautiously. From where it is placed, it certainly must have punctured his lungs. Depending on the length of the blade and the angle… it could have reached Jesse’s heart.

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“Nah. That one don’t hurt anymore.”

“How old…?” Hanzo finally moves his fingers away.

“When I got it? Uh, dunno. Fourteen?” The cowboy tilts his head from side to side, noncommittal in his approximation.

“You don’t remember?” Hanzo isn’t quite sure he believes it, but Deadeye only affects visual recall, not always the details attached—or so McCree has told him. Jesse shrugs again, as if it is unimportant that his childhood self suffered such a grievous wound. Hanzo lets out a breath he’s suddenly aware of holding, fingertips trembling as they trace beneath the scar.

“Too young and stupid to die, that’s all I know,” Jesse’s smile is all Santa Fe sunshine, but it does little to ease the ache in Hanzo’s chest.

_You killed your first man before I did._

It is a startling realization. It upends what few assumptions he had left about Jesse. About the types of men they both are, and used to be.

Hanzo isn’t sure why the order matters, but he’s always assumed—always _known_ —deep in his bones that of the two of them he was the first to take another life. Raised with both the skill of an assassin as well as the ability to command them, it seemed natural that he was first.

But even if Jesse didn’t harm whoever gave him this scar, Hanzo knows with a terrible certainty in his gut that Jesse would not have taken long to start dispensing such wounds himself.

Jesse wouldn’t be here if he had not.

“Hey, you okay babe?” Hanzo realizes he can taste salt at the corners of his mouth. Jesse reaches up to cup his cheek. When his thumb brushes Hanzo’s cheek, he can feel a smear of wetness there. “Aw, Han. I’m okay. I made it through.”

That isn’t entirely what is bothering Hanzo, though the thought of McCree nearly dying at such a young age isn’t helping. He feels something like grief knowing he was wrong in his estimations of when Jesse started his life with Deadlock, but Hanzo is mourning a person who never was. He quickly wipes his cheeks, ducking away from Jesse’s touch for a moment.

“I apologize. You are right. You did make it.”

He lets Jesse pull him down for a kiss, and Hanzo slides an arm beneath the man. He tangles one leg around Jesse’s, the other hiking around a hip, trying to touch every bit of their skin together. He doesn’t even register the dull pain in his knee from hitting the wall in his haste to wrap himself around Jesse. He curls his other arm around Jesse’s head. He kisses the man with a sudden desperation. As he lays down open mouthed kisses, Hanzo treasures each gasp, each scrape of beard against his skin. He even treasures the sour taste of ashes underneath whiskey and mint. Jesse’s arm holds him securely around the waist, a hot palmprint searing into Hanzo’s back.

“ _Cielo_ ,” Jesse exhales as they part lips.

“Cielo?” Spanish is not a language Hanzo has had great cause to pick up over the years, and he only knows a few of the more common phrases McCree and Odalis use.

“Mi cielo,” Jesse repeats breathlessly, nodding solemnly. He steals a kiss, taking advantage of Hanzo’s confusion. Hanzo turns theft into a gift, offering up the thief his plunder. Jesse pulls back slowly with a satisfied little smile, “Mi pedacito de cielo.”

Hanzo just huffs out a laugh through kiss-swollen lips.

“Fine. You can tell me what that means _mañana._ ” The cowboy grins and brushes his fingers along Hanzo’s cheek.

“If you thought I was bad with the names before, you ain’t prepared for what’s headed your way, honeybee. It’s all cariño and azúcar from here on out.”

Hanzo laughs. It is a burden he’s willing to bear, though he wonders if Jesse feels cheated. Such effusive terms of endearment are not customary in Japanese. His cheeks burn a little with sudden dread at the thought of _new_ nicknames being uttered in public. Perhaps he can negotiate on what terms cannot be used in front of others.

“Feel better? I ain’t going anywhere.” Jesse reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

“That is a complicated question which serves no purpose but to distract me from my goals.” The verbal parry earns a grin.

“Fair enough, care to share those goals with me?” Hanzo presses their brows together before resting another kiss on Jesse’s mouth.

“My goals are… flexible,” Hanzo grinds wickedly against Jesse, pulling a groan from both of them. Hanzo moves the arm trapped beneath Jesse’s weight. He means to simply squeeze the man’s ass, but his hand ends up trapped in the man’s back pocket. It is not a situation Hanzo finds himself compelled to correct.

Jesse’s voice is in his ear, breath tickling the buzz cut on his scalp. “C'mon Hanzo what do I need to do? Flattery? Beg? I ain't too proud. I'll do it.”

“Hmm. Begging could be nice. What is your desire?”

“Can we possibly inch even just the _least_ little bit closer to being naked?”

“Hmm. That is difficult to say. I rather like having my hand in your pocket.”

It is too easy to make Jesse groan. Hanzo doesn’t think he’ll get tired of it.

“Absolutely, the biggest goddamn tease. I am going to expire,” the man tosses his head back dramatically, almost smacking his head against the wall for his trouble.

It is not begging in the strictest sense of the word. More begging-adjacent, but it is enough.

Hanzo takes advantage of this opening and kisses the man’s throat hungrily. It’s a shame the bed is so small. He desperately wishes to pin Jesse’s hand above his head on the mattress, but if they move much further down their feet and legs will start hanging off the bed. Jesse's certainly will before Hanzo's. _Perhaps we can find another bed on base that isn’t so small… or at least put two together._

Hanzo untangles himself from Jesse, immediately mourning the loss of heat as he staggers to his feet next to the bed. Jesse rests on his elbow, watching with interest.

Hanzo considers making a show of it, but he instead opts to shed his remaining clothing as quickly as possible. He doesn’t want to give himself the opportunity to rethink this.

Jesse lets out a low whistle as his skin tightens with gooseflesh once more. “Now ain't that the prettiest thing I ever did see?” Hanzo can't hide his shudder as Jesse drags his gaze up his body.

He bites the inside of his mouth as Jesse rolls onto his side and runs his palm over his still-clothed cock. Despite his earlier wheedling, Jesse is not in a hurry to lose his pants.

Hanzo realizes that he's palming himself as he stands enraptured by the man before him. He takes a half step forward so his thighs are brushing against the mattress.

Jesse can't seem to keep his eyes away from his prick. “You asking me for a favor darling? Cause I would be happy to oblige.”

Hanzo swallows. “What would be easiest for you?”

“Well I dunno if it's _easiest,_ but easy enough and more fun if you're sitting on my chest.” Jesse’s grin is all kinds of wicked and it sends enough heat through Hanzo to burn away any shred of self-consciousness. Jesse rolls onto his back in the most inviting way, and Hanzo climbs onto the bed, crawling as far forward as best he can, before he’s kneeling over Jesse’s chest. It’s like an invisible hand has gripped the base of his spine above his tailbone as he feels his cock and balls brush against the man’s chest.

Hanzo can’t breathe as Jesse reaches up and traces his cock—though the man has to pitch his elbow up to a ridiculous degree thanks to the wall. _I will tear this room apart with my bare hands when we are through._ Jesse’s thumb settles right where the shaft and head become one, and Hanzo arches forward with a moan, thoughts of homicidal renovation completely dislodged.

He braces an arm on the wall beside him. Even though it has meant nothing until now, it's suddenly untenable and irritating that for a western style bed there’s no headboard or frame to get purchase on. Jesse reaches up and brushes his thumb along his lip, the callus there sending a spark down Hanzo's spine, like flashpaper burning through each vertebra, “Now baby that's a _look_. Fella could get used to that.” There’s a tightness in his chest as Hanzo wishes he could see what Jesse sees in this moment. If he could, it would make facing the mirror easier in the morning.

Jesse’s fingertips trace down his sternum, slowly pulling down his chest as he returns the touch back to his shaft. He feels a brush against his right hip, and Jesse averts his gaze. Hanzo knits his brow and follows his gaze down to where the man’s stump is resting on his thigh. Jesse looks lost, and Hanzo doesn’t understand how it’s possible in this moment. Not when Jesse’s taken such easy-going control of the situation.

“Sorry, not really sure what to do with _that_ … I mostly pictured this happening with two arms. I can move it if you want…” Several things crystalize in that moment for Hanzo. He is starting to lose track of how many times this evening Jesse McCree has come into sharper relief as a person.

None of it has made him want Jesse any less.

Hanzo reaches down. His palm runs up what’s left of the arm until he is squeezing Jesse’s shoulder lightly.

“This does not repulse me. Do not apologize.”

“You know the condom should probably already be on right now.” The abrupt change in topic is an inelegant, but effective deflection.

Hanzo glances behind him, over his shoulder, a frustrated sound escaping his teeth. “I do not see them, I think they have fallen from the bed.”

“I just want it on record that one of us said it, that’s all.” Jesse gives him a cheeky wink before he cranes his head forward and slips the tip of Hanzo’s cock into his mouth. Hanzo has to brace on the wall above Jesse’s head, clawing fruitlessly for support that is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, Hanzo wonders if he could _survive_ an encounter where Jesse has both hands at his disposal. With only a mouth and five fingers at his command, Hanzo feels like his entire existence could be unravelled.

Jesse’s mouth is hot and wet in a way that makes Hanzo ache for the chances they didn’t take in Nevada. Hanzo isn’t good with words, but Jesse’s mouth is occupied, and the press of a hot tongue on his shaft draws them from some unknown well inside him.

“I wanted you to do this, when we were sharing that hotel room.” Hanzo’s breath is ragged. There’s the barest pause to Jesse’s slow and languid actions that tells him the cowboy is listening. Hanzo focuses on the press of his fingernails into his palm to keep him grounded, so that he might have a chance to savor this longer.

“I nearly arranged it so that we would share a bed. I considered several options. Sabotage, bribery… an unfortunate misclick when making reservations.”

There is a slick noise as Jesse pulls his head back to laugh, “You could’ve just asked.” The painful twist of embarrassment Hanzo feels in his chest is quickly forgotten as Jesse picks up exactly where he left off. Hanzo’s arm slips a few centimeters down the wall as the man gives his balls a slow pull, thumb sweeping between them. Hanzo can’t help shallowly thrusting into Jesse’s mouth.

“I have wanted you for so long,” Hanzo doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s so soft and quiet. It sounds like it belongs to another man. A man who has a tender heart.

He closes his eyes, taking shallow breaths as he lets this other man speak for him. It is not the dragons. It is not him. He is uncertain what this is, but he is grateful for the words.

“Nevada was torture. Heizo and Jace were torture. I didn’t dare to think we could have what they seemed to have.” Hanzo presses his forehead against his arm, perspiration making the skin stick together. Hanzo swallows as he feels Jesse’s mouth leave him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Jesse’s hand, slow and deliberate, is enough to keep this other man in his chest speaking.

“The distance between us at night… was torture. More than any mission we’ve shared together.” Hanzo can feel his thighs burn a little and he can hear Jesse’s admonishment of ‘ _Chicken Legs_ ’ and skipping leg day in his head. “I sent you on a pointless errand when we were done because I was not certain how much longer I could resist _this_.”

Slowly, Hanzo opens his eyes. The look on Jesse’s face can only be described as awe-struck and it feels like the cowboy has finally beaten him at archery—that _look_ goes straight through his heart.

Whatever spell he was under is gone, and Hanzo doesn’t have someone else speaking for him. For a moment he only has himself—not even the dragons.

They are asleep. They have not slumbered for a long time.

“Jesse.”

\----

If Jesse McCree didn't know he had it bad before, he certainly does now.

It is basically a miracle that he didn't come from Hanzo saying his name.

Jesse's felt close for awhile which is part of the reason he didn't dare take off his pants. _It's been way too long. No one can fault me for that, right?_

Still, he swallows and now that Hanzo's out of whatever trance he's been in, Jesse whispers hoarsely, “Holy hell Han. I think I might die if I don't kiss you in the next minute.”

Hanzo shifts off his chest, and squeezes himself between Jesse and the wall. He has to scoot over, and it's terribly awkward because Hanzo’s shoulder is pinning the only arm he has. They manage to angle their mouths together, and Hanzo reaches across his chest to make sure he doesn't fall out of the bed.

There is a comfortable moment, where Jesse just feels _ready_ beneath the wanting and the lust and the aching.

Jesse presses his brow to Hanzo's. It's a good feeling, “Hey.”

“Hello.” Oh the way those eyelashes flutter do all kinds of things to Jesse's heart. Makes him feel like all sorts of tiny green things growing in a wasteland. He’s never had a green thumb to speak of, and he’s still not sure he’s cut out for cultivation.

Jesse opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He breathes the barest laugh as he remembers Tracer's words. _“I never treat anything like a joke. A person’s heart is too delicate to be that callous.”_ It’s pretty good advice.

_Spent my life ignoring good advice, may as well keep doing it._

Because he isn't sure what to do with all the tiny tender feelings germinating in his heart he grins over at Hanzo, “I gotta say, as far as gay sex goes this is a mite disappointing. Our balls ain't touched even once. Everyone knows it ain't gay unless the balls touch.”

The sigh that issues forth from Hanzo's lungs is truly legendary.

“Jesse. There is room in your near, immediate future for a _third_ opportunity to walk away from trouble naked.”

“Gotta get me naked first though, don’cha?” Jesse sticks out his tongue at Hanzo.

When spurred to action Hanzo is truly a remarkable sight to behold. Jesse isn’t sure how he manages to to vault off the bed from such a restricted position—apart from general _ninja bullshit_ —and reappear a moment later.

Hanzo is shoving his fist almost belligerently into his palm, and Jesse realizes that the the fallen condoms are being pressed into his hand.  As soon as the pads of his fingertips touch foil, Hanzo is at the foot of the bed.

Jesse feels a tightness in his gut as the other man’s fingers dig beneath the waistband of his jeans. Jesse swallows thickly, fascinated by the muscles in Hanzo’s arms as he pulls downward. Jesse gasps as he’s completely exposed in one swift movement. It’s a bit like a magician pulling a tablecloth from a heavily laden table. Hanzo tosses his jeans and briefs to the floor. The way he discards them makes Jesse wonder if he’ll ever see them again.

Every hair on his body stands on end. He isn't sure what Han sees but he can tell that the man is evaluating him. Making calculations that Jesse can't hope to follow, but will hopefully enjoy.

“Hello,” Jesse’s voice cracks on the word, snakes of all kinds curling in his belly. The differences between them have never been more stark. Jesse knows that they're made of the same stuff, that they're both human, but Hanzo is something otherworldly in his beauty. They might be men cut from the same cloth, sure, but Hanzo is also exquisite and carved from marble, while Jesse feels a little more mortal and made from mud. It’s also enough of a sight to behold to pull up all the philosophy he’s consumed to become Morricone, and he immediately starts crafting an essay to dunk on every thinker who’s ever gotten love wrong starting with Sartre.

Hanzo doesn’t seem to mind Jesse and all his frailties, though—not even the most visible evidence of his human foibles seems to faze him—and Jesse swallows as Han crawls over him again. This time there’s nothing between them at all.

He’s not prepared for Hanzo’s lips against his ear, “Hey.”

Jesse smiles just a bit. He discards the mental draft of the next blog post for Joel Morricone from his brain. “No idea how I landed you, cielo. You’re lucky I only got one hand right now. ‘Bout ready to write a whole mess of theology and philosophy that’ll get Morricone death threats.”

The ends of Hanzo’s hair tickle his cheek as the man looks down at him. He can feel them on his missing hand too. “Does that happen often to Joel?”

“Not terribly.”

“Hmm. I look forward to reading whatever Morricone has to say.”

“Man, Morricone, Heizo, Jace… Never would have guessed this tiny bed could hold five men in it at once.”

Hanzo laughs at that, and he pushes a little panel flush against the wall. In a digital age, the inset storage drawer that pops open is refreshingly mechanical. It's hinged at the bottom, but it only opens up around 45 degrees. A childish rush of jealousy grips Jesse by the heart.

“Your stupid storage compartment _works!?"_

Hanzo tilts his head, “It has always works. Does yours not?”

“Been just about two years and it’s always been busted.” It’s not a deal breaker, and Jesse probably could have kicked up more of a fuss and gotten it fixed. It’s just another irksome byproduct of his stubbornness.

The bottle Hanzo plucks from the storage space almost surprises Jesse. He expects something something name brand, overpriced, scented, possibly with gold foil suspended in it, and consisting of features like “ _Warms on contact!”_ It makes more sense, Jesse reflects, that Hanzo would choose something simple and generic. The Spanish label does make him grin because that almost certainly means that Hanzo resupplies across the border.

“Now you got me curious… gotta figure out when you’ve been sneaking this stuff on base.” He casts an appreciative eye up Hanzo’s body as the man sits up again.

“You think I will reveal my secret so easily?”

“Ain’t the supply runs here on Gibraltar. Gotta be the cross-border runs, but you almost never go. Still, that bottle’s pretty tiny, and if you’ve been as insatiable as you claim, that ain’t gonna cut it.”

Jesse clenches his fist around the condoms as the sound of a plastic lid opening fills the room. Hanzo’s chuckle sends sparks of fire all the way down from his head to his toes. Hanzo taps him on the ankles and Jesse feels the coils in his belly ratchet even tighter with anticipation. He obligingly bends his knees, and plants his feet on the mattress, Hanzo neatly slides in to fill the space Jesse’s freed up.

“I do not believe I ever defined _how_ insatiable I was, but you are correct in that estimation at least.” Jesse feels like he can’t breathe as he watches Han trace his fingertips with the end of the bottle. He can see the light from the bathroom catch on the slick surface left behind.

“Goddam _tease_ ,” he supposes this is his just desserts. Some of Jesse’s early flirting may not have been completely harmless, but at least they’re both where they want to be now.

“Would a tease do this?” There's a thrill in his stomach like he's on a roller coaster as he feels more than he sees Hanzo's hand disappear between his cheeks. He almost laughs as he feels the man's knuckles pressing into the skin there, tracing his hole. He can feel the man's lubed up fingers just barely grazing his ass as Han gives him such a smug smile, showing no hint of entry anytime soon.

“Ch’yeah, I think he would.” What Hanzo's giving him is so good, but not nearly enough of what he wants. Jesse places the two condom packets on his stomach, before he forgets their existence entirely. “Fucker,” the word is shaped around a year and more’s worth of affection.

“That is the goal before this is done.”

“Well, I hate to break it to ya darlin’ but I may not last that long if you keep teasin’ me to hell and back like this.” Jesse slides his tongue between his teeth, squeezing the edge in an attempt to cut through the haze of pleasure flooding his brain.

“It is a risk I am willing to accept,” Hanzo’s breaths are heavy—just at the edges as he tries to hide it. It’s almost more titillating than the teasing massage he’s getting from those knuckles.

“Hmm, it occurs to me this may have been done in the incorrect order.” Hanzo’s eyes fall to his stomach, though they linger on his cock for a moment.

“What?”

“While I am sure you can manage most things, I imagine putting on a condom one-handed is a little difficult.” Jesse can feel himself blushing. _Aw hell._

“Well it definitely ain’t something I been practicing.” He supposes it's _possible_ with enough practice, but it's never going to be a practical option.

Jesse supposes he should feel insulted at the eminently practical way Hanzo transfers the lube to where it needs to be. He isn’t though, it is strangely charming and quintessentially Hanzo. When he reaches down for one of the condoms, the man pauses to swipe his thumb through the clear pool of precum that’s gathered on Jesse’s stomach.

He shudders as Hanzo bends his head down to swipe his tongue over it.

The residue of the lubrication on Hanzo’s other hand hinders his efforts to break into the sealed package. If it weren’t so torturous, Jesse would laugh. It takes far longer than either of them would have liked, but Hanzo is finally able to tear the package apart.

“We’ll uh, remember this order of operations fer next time, right?”

“It is as good an excuse as any for repetition of the exercise.”

Hanzo tips the condom into his palm and then holds it above the tip of Jesse's cock. Jesse reaches down and pinches the tip of it between his fingers. A moment ago it was embarrassing, but the way Hanzo holds his gaze as he unrolls the latex down his shaft is unbearably sexy. McCree lets out a small whimper and he isn't sure which has him burning more—that _look_ or the fact that Hanzo's actually touching his dick for the first time.

For the second package Hanzo has evidently run out of patience because he puts the corner of it between his teeth and tears it open. He hasn't broken eye contact for even a moment, and the intensity of it makes Jesse feel like he’s on the verge of falling into some deep abyss. His mouth feels drier than all of the summers he’s endured under that gaze. There was a hot second where Jesse thought he could moonlight as an advice columnist that didn’t last long (and he’s thankful Hanzo hasn’t discovered _that_ pen name) but he himself had touted the importance of eye contact and linked to scientific studies he’d barely skimmed on the subject. The hollowness of those words haunt him in the face of _this_. Something magnetic, terrifying, and _immense_.

He can’t even bring himself to pull eyes eyes away to watch Hanzo put a condom on his very handsome cock.

Jesse is only able to breathe again as Hanzo pulls his gaze away to look for the bottle again. “You are something else cariño,” it’s ridiculous how winded he feels.

He’s just able to catch the blush coloring Hanzo’s cheek. “I could say the same.” Hanzo swallows as he pours more lube on his fingertips. “Try to relax,” the words are said so quietly, Jesse wonders if they aren’t meant for Hanzo more than they are for him.

“Do my best, sugar,” Jesse wets his lips. He tries to loosen up, but Han’s been winding him up so tight with anticipation there's no way his body is going to yield to his wishes. As soon as he feels those fingertips touch the muscle there, Jesse clenches his gut and his breath stalls in his lungs. Hanzo’s expression pulls into a frown.

“Breathe, Jesse,” Hanzo rests his other hand on Jesse’s knee and gives it a squeeze. Jesse obeys, forcing the air out of his lungs. He takes several ragged breaths as Hanzo slowly applies more pressure, working his fingertips in a slow circle.

Jesse places his hand over the one on his knee, his thumb brushing over Hanzo’s. His spine feels like a zipper being teased open, tooth by tooth, as the tension eases away. That feeling of _rightness_ returns, settling comfortably over his bones, and Jesse wets his lips before speaking, “Hey, I’m ready if you are.”

He can feel his heart stop as he watches Hanzo’s mouth. He’s mesmerized by the way the edges of his lover’s mouth slowly unseal as his lips part. Then it’s like the wind is knocked out of him as Hanzo finally presses a finger _inside_. It’s been ages since Jesse’s had more than his own fingers back there, and usually he doesn’t bother with the awkward, wrist-bending acrobatics that kind of self-love entails. Hanzo hasn’t even pushed his finger in all the way, just teasing and tracing the thick band of muscle there.

Jesse isn’t sure what language he curses in, but the shallow tease draws out a quiet “ _Fuck!”_ in one of the eighteen languages he’s learned to say the word in. Hanzo laughs somewhere in the stratosphere above him and squeezes his knee before moving his hand to tangle their fingers together.

“This bed is far too small,” Hanzo lifts their joined hands and places a kiss against Jesse’s wrist. “I should have this hand pinned above your head.”

“ _Jesus_ Han, you’re going to murder me.” Jesse also wishes very much that his hand was free to stroke himself, but he’d rather cut off his remaining hand rather than let go of Hanzo’s.

“Such is the risk of bedding an assassin,” McCree laughs, but the deep, gravely tones of Hanzo’s voice and the truth to those words make sparks dance beneath his skin. There's probably something wrong with how much that turns him on, but in an instant Jesse is drunk and sixteen again, biking too close to the edge of a canyon with no fear of death in his heart.

He can feel that drunken grin spread across his face as he realizes he’s safer here, but it’s too many thoughts crashing together to even begin to explain aloud, so he doesn’t try. “You got real gentle hands for an assassin.”

Several emotions cross Hanzo’s face in quick succession, and Jesse’s lust-addled brain can’t quite keep up. There’s the immediate look of shock and startlement, but there are some subtle ones he isn’t in the proper frame of mind to catch. It even seems like Hanzo is taken aback for a moment, before he finally settles on amusement.

“You are mocking me.” Hanzo finally slips his finger in deeper, even if he weren’t holding Hanzo’s other hand like an anchor, he’d be able to tell the one inside him is the man’s draw hand from the way the calluses he can feel are shaped.

“Not a bit.” His voice hitches and he grips Hanzo’s hand a little tighter. “Gonna be nice, dying under these hands, best way a man can go.”

“Don’t think you are getting off so easily. I am not finished with you yet,” Hanzo’s hand slips from his grasp, and his thumb swipes across Jesse’s lower lip. He tries to catch it for a kiss, but the archer’s already withdrawn both hands. He hears the plastic of the bottle split open again.

Jesse lets out a breathy, helpless laugh, “Ain’t nothing easy about this cielo.”

“I think you’ll be up to the challenge,” Hanzo’s smile is beautiful, wicked, and sharp as anything the man’s ever shot. His lungs cease working again as Hanzo spreads him and presses two fingers inside of him. “Breathe,” Hanzo drops a kiss to one of his knees, and Jesse obeys once more. He shivers as Hanzo traces his less occupied fingers up the back of his thigh, the sound of nails tracing through hair cutting across their panting and the occasional shift of the mattress.

Hanzo’s fingertips pressing into him ignite sparks in the head of his cock. Jesse moans throatily and wraps his fingers around his prick. He's thankful for the latex which dulls the feel just enough to where he isn't risking a sudden, premature end to their evening. Or morning, at this point. He runs his thumb along his shaft to give himself just a bit of ease to the ache gnawing away at him.

“Aside from your imminent death, has this been to your liking so far?” The tone is conversational and Jesse might be far gone, but he's present enough to hear an edge under that question.

“Mighty fine so far. Gotta admit, didn't really know what to expect. Wasn't sure this would ever happen. There were a lot of variations I considered.”

“So much for being a gentleman.” _God I love that smile._ Jesse can't think of a time he’s seen Hanzo smile this much.

“Hey I said I tri-” he’s cut off by a well-timed crook of Hanzo’s fingers. A whimper escapes him, and he feels his cock twitch in his hand. “Christ almighty, babe. Han, please, _more_ ,” Jesse feels like he’s burning up.

“You cannot possibly be ready.” Hanzo’s frown and concern would be endearing at any other moment, but Jesse doesn’t like that answer one bit.

“Don’t care. Need you.” He locks eyes with Han and doesn’t feel the slightest shred of guilt for the conflict he sees there. He wets his lips and drags his teeth across them for good measure, trying to entice Hanzo to see his side of the argument.

“You will have me,” Hanzo’s free hand runs down the back of his thigh in a soothing motion.

Jesse breathes out a laugh and he can’t stop the words before they tumble out of his mouth, “Think it’s the other way ‘round, darling.”

“Hush,” and Hanzo shuts him up good, putting a little more force to the motions of his fingers, thrusting in and out. It feels good, but the agony of wanting leaves Jesse feeling frustrated and unfulfilled.

When Hanzo finally deigns to work in a third finger, just to prolong his agony, it’s still not enough to sate the _need_ building in him. A gnawing _absence_ that digits aren’t good enough to satisfy.

“Please… Han…” Jesse’s throat is making all kinds of tiny, splintered noises. His toes curl against the sheets, his hand loosely stroking, but mostly just squeezing the base of his cock.

A gasp wrenches from his lungs as Hanzo withdraws his hand again. There's a slick sound as the man between his knees pumps his cock, spreading the lube. Jesse can feel himself trembling just a little as Hanzo bends over him and presses his lips against his ear.

“Are you ready?”

That whisper is the sweetest damn thing he’s heard in a lifetime. Between that and the feather-light brush of whiskers against his ear, Jesse’s nearly done in. “Darling, I been hot to trot since the day we met.”

Jesse shivers as Hanzo’s warmth and weight pull back. Rough hands hewn from countless hours of bow-work angle his hips—a faint smear of lube is left behind on the left side. Jesse holds them up obligingly, bracing both hand and stump on the bed.

He swallows as he locks eyes with Hanzo. His whole world, his whole life seems to shrink into this single moment. It's almost too much, being laid bare like this. To be penetrated by Hanzo's stare as the tip of his cock slides into him.

Hanzo hisses something in Japanese and decoding it is difficult as he feels Hanzo sliding home, inch by inch. He chuckles as it clicks into place. _Tight._

“That good for you, babe?” Jesse tips his chin up, reaching up to trace his fingers on the man's waist.

He's rewarded as Hanzo settles down over him, sliding an arm underneath his along the mattress. His answer is the press of hungry lips against his mouth, drawing him into a deeper kiss. Hanzo acts like he’s on a mission to eliminate any possible space between them, and Jesse aims to help him in that regard, tangling their legs together. He can feel the raised lines of scales underneath his shoulder. Whether it’s the result of heat, the little surge of the tatsu earlier, or blood pressure, it’s strangely flattering.

There’s a soft, satisfying smack as their lips separate. Jesse’s suddenly glad he didn’t give in to the urge to use Deadeye because he wouldn’t be able to see this while suffering from the aftermath of overloading his optic nerve. Hanzo’s smile is a small thing, but it’s like none Jesse’s seen on his face before. He looks younger, lighter—the weight and gravitas that usually cloak him are gone. He knows Hanzo’s answering his question, those lips are moving, but he’s so distracted by how gorgeous the man is he can’t hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears. For a brief, irrational moment Jesse’s afraid that he’s dreaming and Hanzo’s going to slip away like some ephemeral spirit as he pulls his hips back.

Hanzo rolls his hips forward with agonizing slowness. Jesse reaches up and clutches Hanzo for dear life, his hand settling in between two powerful shoulder blades. He wraps his legs around Hanzo’s waist, gratified by the slight sound of surprise that this elicits. He feels Hanzo’s other hand settle under his left knee, powerful and sure. Hanzo tips the angle of their hips _just so_ and Jesse feels like a tiny green shoot under a flood of water.

It’s _just off_ from where he wants it and needs it to be, and Han _knows_ it. Each time the man thrusts, it’s slow, agonizing, wonderful, and he can feel Hanzo’s cock brush along his prostate, rather than _into_ it. The slow, indirect stimulation is agony and ecstasy rolled up into one gorgeous package. Each time he tries to adjust the angle of his hips to something else, something more direct, Hanzo counters him—either by slowing down or nudging their hips back to where he wants them to be.

Jesse can feel his nails digging little crescent moons into Hanzo’s skin, but the man doesn’t seem to mind.

“You are... absolutely… gonna kill me, cidrelo,” Jesse lets out a shaky breath. He can’t even laugh at the strange cross-pollination of _cielo_ and _darling_ that tumbled out of his mouth. Not when Han is taking his sweet time murdering him inch by inch and laughing sweeter than sun tea against his neck.

“That would be… most... unfortunate right now,” Jesse isn’t sure what draws the moan out of him. Hanzo’s chuckle, his lips against his neck, or the fact that his cock thrusts in a little deeper with just a touch more power behind it.

“I’ll remember this… for next time. Just you wait ‘til round.. Round two.” Hanzo’s eyes light up, his smile is downright _mischievous_ and damn if ain’t the most endearing thing Jesse’s ever seen.

“I look forward to your vengeance,” Hanzo’s voice is so deep and soft, at odds with look on his face just a moment ago. Jesse isn’t sure who seals their lips together again, but it’s Han who pulls them apart, looking so satisfied it’s fucking criminal.

“Ain’t vengeance, ‘s gonna be justice,” it’s an important point that Jesse feels needs to be clarified. He’s not sure why, but his brain isn’t exactly operating at full capacity at the moment.

Still, he must be doing something right because it makes Hanzo laugh again. “I have heard that it does not dispense itself. Give me your hand.”

For a moment, Jesse thinks he’s used Deadeye because time’s standing still.

It occurs to him that such a request isn’t—and should not be—so shocking considering that the man is fully sheathed up his ass, but it caught him off guard anyway.

It’s also the first thing Hanzo’s asked for.

“Give you the world if you want, honeybee,” Jesse slowly uncurls from Hanzo, rubbing his fingers in an apology over the indents he left behind.

“Just your hand will suffice for now.” Hanzo grasps his hand gently as Jesse brings it between them. In a moment he has linked their fingers, and then he guides their joined hands above his head. Jesse almost laughs as he feels the wall against the back of his hand, pinned beneath Han’s.

“Guess you got what you wanted after all, huh?”

“It is a suitable… improvisation.”

It’s damn sexy is what it is.

With his hand pinned by Hanzo, and an adjustment of the hand holding his knee, Jesse’s completely at the—allegedly nonexistent—mercy of the man inside him. Hanzo’s thrusts are executed with a little more intention, a little more force. It's so good, but he absolutely needs more. Another time he can savor being pinned under Han.

Right now he’s about to lose his damn mind.

“Cariño,” Jesse plants the one free leg he has on the mattress, the only source of leverage he has at the moment. He squeezes the hand in his grasp. “ _Please._  Don’t make me beg in Japanese. It’ll be the least sexy thing you hear, guarantee it.”

Above him, Hanzo shakes his head with a laugh, “I suspect you are wrong about that, but.. I will relent.”

It’s all the warning he receives before Han moves his hand down the back of his thigh and starts thrusting with abandon. Jesse flexes his fingers, still pinned under Hanzo’s steady hand.

He almost regrets his words because he can feel the end of it coming on so quickly. Jesse isn’t sure if it’s a handful of thrusts or a few minutes, but time is all kinds of strange right now, and he can’t be sure that Deadeye isn’t somehow malfunctioning to alter his perception. All he knows is that he’s never trusted anyone enough to do _this_ before, but damn if Han wasn’t worth the wait.

He manages to keep his eyes open, even as pleasure lights up every nerve he has and he fills the condom. He doesn’t know what he whispers to Hanzo with his voice all shattered and husky, but it doesn’t matter, really.

Han’s face—transitioning from tension and effort in one moment and into euphoria and peace the next—is something he’s going to remember until he dies, even without Deadeye’s perfect recall.

\----

Hanzo finally releases Jesse’s hand from captivity, trying to catch his breath. He withdraws slowly, the sensation almost too much to bear so close after climaxing. He gives Jesse back custody over his leg as well, and finds himself sort of half-melting, half-collapsing on top of the man. His limbs suddenly seem to be made of overcooked noodles.

For his part, Jesse doesn’t seem to mind. Hanzo feels a pair of lips searching along his scalp. Evidently Jesse gives up on his quest because he simply places a kiss on the top of his crown.

“That was just a practice run. Next time… next time we can really dance.” Hanzo presses his grin into Jesse’s shoulder.

“Concerned that I'm judging you about your lack of stamina?” Not that he’s _in_ a position to judge, given how quickly both of them came to pieces.

“Cielo you are wicked mean sometimes.” Their shared laughter fills the room and the silence between them.

The condoms make for easy clean up. Even if he weren't playing host, Hanzo wouldn’t have the heart to make Jesse get out of bed at this moment. He slowly gets to his feet, rather loathe himself to leave his company. Thankfully, the room _is_ small and the bathroom is a short distance away. The used condoms are tossed into a wastebasket, and Hanzo grabs two washcloths, running them under the tap before returning to bed.

The small size of the single mattress is annoying, even moreso than when they were coupling. Hanzo passes Jesse the cloth and realizes that he can’t just crawl on top of the man and expect him to be able to clean himself. Instead he ends up standing awkwardly, half turning away as he wipes himself down, ears burning as Jesse laughs.

“ _Now_ yer getting shy?”

“Shut up,” it is the rejoinder of a man who has no argument to make. He sees a cloth in his peripheral vision and he reaches back to snatch it from Jesse’s hand. When he enters the bathroom a second time, Hanzo pats his cheeks down with cold water in a vain attempt to quell his blushing.

Hanzo hesitates in the doorway of the bathroom. He flicks the lights off. The only light in the room is now cast by the digital displays around the room.

He ponders going to his dresser to grab either a top or a bottom to sleep in. “Did you wish to reclaim any of your clothing? I could loan you a shirt to sleep in, perhaps, but it may end up being… snug.”

“Hmm. I could make an exception to sleeping naked, but if you just wanna toss me my shirt, that’d be just fine.”

Hanzo regrets his offer as soon as he bends down to pick it up. “It reeks of smoke.”

“You’re the one who kept me waiting, I’ll point out, but fine. Get me yer biggest shirt then.” Hanzo crosses the room and opens the top drawer on his dresser and tosses McCree one of his workout tees. It is tight on Jesse, as predicted, and it rides up his stomach in a very attractive manner.

“I think that’s an excellent look for you,” Hanzo grins and climbs into a pair of very tiny terry cloth shorts he bought mostly to accede to the summer heat which is still a couple months away, but quickly approaching. There is an appreciative whistle from McCree—something Hanzo evidently needs to get used to—followed by something that sounds like an oath in Spanish. It might be praise. Hanzo decides he needs to make a more concerted effort to pick up the language.

“Damn, darlin’ you need to wear those more often.”

“I wear them with a frequency I think you will find… acceptable.” Jesse's laugh is rewarding, but Hanzo wishes he was pressed up against the man's chest to feel it. He makes his way back over towards the bed and tugs at the covers underneath Jesse. The cowboy shifts until they're free, and slides under them with Hanzo's assistance.

“I do like the sound of that. Makes it seem like I might be invited back sometime.” Hanzo considers the bed before crawling in as well, wedging himself in the corner crafted by mattress and wall again. This time McCree is a little more ready, and Hanzo feels an arm slide up around his waist. He can feel Jesse's chest pressing into his back and he hopes the man can breathe like this. They should probably be spooning in the classic position to conserve space, but Hanzo likes this better.

“It does seem to be an invitation of sorts.” The specifics of this arrangement and any potential redecorating can wait until morning. He nestles back into the crooks and valleys he's been afforded.

“Now, I ain’t complainin’ _but_ —”

“That sounds suspiciously like a complaint.”

“You got _the_ boniest joints. Can we watch the elbows please? Feel like you’re gonna puncture something.”

Hanzo gives Jesse a half hearted nudge with said pointy elbow before shifting a bit. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Jesse's whisker covered chin comes to rest on his shoulder. Hanzo feels like his chest cannot possibly contain all the prickling, bubbling sensations trapped within, and a smile stretches across his face.

“You did not complain about my joints earlier.”

“Had other things on my mind.” Hanzo laughs as he feels a pair of lips brush against his buzzed temples.

Despite the jet-lag, Hanzo knows that he will not wake up by 5:30 AM for his morning workout.

As he shifts beneath the covers in the undersized bed with Jesse to settle in for a post-coital nap, he finds that he doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey, this is my obligatory note reminding you lot that this is fiction and you should def still use protection for oral activities! (But honestly neither of these two are strangers to risky behavior). Also presumably in the future lube technology has substantially improved.
> 
> Also I never get embarrassed when I write smut but that happened several times during this for some reason??? Anyways. I can only hope these two have earned all of this after I've written the prequel ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I've also gone back and made some edits to The Long Con to make some characterization and formatting a little more consistent and to accommodate some new realities that I realized, but nothing is substantially different. I also apologize if some places don't make complete sense, as there's some established stuff that... I haven't written/published yet but will eventually be posted. Such is the consequence of writing and posting stuff out of order lol.
> 
> EDIT: And again props to my lovely beta frankenmouse, crushing it as usual


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